tation of it be? And, what is that goodness to lead to, if not to repentance. Think, what there can be else for it to lead to? Shall it be,-to successive scenes, and stages, and varieties of vanity ?-Shall it be to the very thing itself, even sin, which it should lead to repentance of? Shall it be, to contempt of God? Think what a fearful power of evil it is, that can cause the very "goodness of God" to lead in such a way y!

But, the mind says to itself, when conscience is uneasy, "There must, there shall be repentance." Must it be so? Shall it be so? Then what is to lead to it, if not the "goodness of God?" How, and by what, is it counted upon, as to be brought to pass? Such a question should be plainly answered by the neglectful, delaying spirit that gives itself this assurance. What else than "the goodness of God" is to lead to repentance? What is to be a greater force, and a better force to accomplish the effect? Would a man calmly reckon on severe and terrific causes? On afflictions-calamities-judgments? Would he say, "Those will make me feel, though Divine indulgence cannot? Thou wilt affright and terrify me, and 'set my sins in order before me:' and, till they come, I must be content that the divine goodness' be in vain." Benevolence would pray, that those awful visitations might speedily arrive, if nothing else can suffice; even that were the "goodness of God," though in so different a form. But, what a state of mind it would be, that could resign itself to such a calculation, such a hope! And besides, how is the genuineness to be assuredly known, of a repentance wrought by suffering, by fear and terror? how, unless there were space and scope given afterward to prove that the "goodness of God" affects the soul, and prolongs the salutary contrition when the terrors shall have remitted? But, besides, even this method, of severe goodness, may be forborne, when a long train of its benignant

favours have been disregarded. Even terrors may not be sent till it is too late. Think, at the same time, even if a genuine and salutary effect might be calculated upon, as to be wrought by terror and suffering, what infatuation it would be to leave it to be so accomplished, that which there is now indulgent goodness adapted to accomplish!

But is it still this indulgent goodness that is counted upon, as to work repentance? prolonged goodness,—more and greater goodness,-while, thus far that goodness fails? But is there not enormous presumption in thus making sure of its prolongation? Is there not presumption too, and absurdity, in building on resolutions, to make a contrary use, some time, of that goodness, to what has been deliberately made of it hitherto? What good and powerful principle is expected to spring up in the heart, in the meantime, to turn it so certainly and so easily to its Divine Benefactor? And even if it could be certain, that the Divine goodness would be efficacious after being still longer trifled with-think how certain it would be also, that a great aggravation of bitterness and remorse would be added, by the very circumstance of having trifled with that goodness so much longer.

But again; the prolonged trifling with it tends, naturally and powerfully, to an effect directly the contrary of repentance,-naturally and powerfully, we say; it does so by mere habit, if there were nothing more. It does so, by establishing a heedless kind of notion (or rather a habit of feeling without thought), as if all the good we receive were just what belongs to our being and nature-only what it is proper for us to have, since we exist, something due to our condition, rather than any direct bounty of God. It does so, by turning many of God's mercies, in succession, to a wrong use-and every such instance, being a sin, puts us further from him-adds to the thickness of "the sepa

rating wall." It does so, by creating a delusive sense of impunity. It may do so, by introducing into the mind an express and even speculative undervaluation of the Divine mercies, admitted and cherished to do away the sense of guilt. It may at length do so (that is, harden the spirit), by bringing upon it, from the infliction of God himself, a judicial insensibility. But, conceive the state of a soul hardened under “the goodness of God!" No longer even a perception of his mercies, as such,—a fixed impenetrable ingratitude,—an established, habitual repellency to all his attractions, a cessation, nearly, of regret for not being at peace with him ;-the man's mind made up, as it were, just to seize and enjoy as much temporal good as God will permit him (not give him) during the remainder of the brief space of life, and leave all that is to follow to be as it may.

Above all things we should dread, and pray against, such a fatal consequence of "the goodness of God." And if there be, in any, a consciousness of any degree of it, no words are strong enough to express the alarm and earnestness that should be felt.

Consider, in conclusion, how happily the sentiment of "repentance" from a sense of "the goodness of God," mingles and harmonizes with all the noblest and most delightful sentiments of religion,-with gratitude, humility, holy reverence, and zeal,-and with the aspiration to a better life, where there shall be no more sir.

June 19, 1823.

LECTURE XXXIV

THE BREVITY OF HUMAN LIFE CONTRASTED WITH THE PERMANENCE OF OBJECTS IN NATURE.

ECCLESIASTES i. 4.

"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever."

THIS place of our abode, or rather our sojourn, this Earth, has many things tending to beguile us out of reflection, to lull and sink us into unconcern. But, it has some things fitted to awaken us to thought and apprehension. This should, in all reason, be the effect of such circumstances, and facts, as force on our attention the contrast between the duration of the earth itself and that of our abode on it; a duration, in the one instance, coming down from a vast remoteness of antiquity, and extending onward through unknown ages;-in the other instance, a duration nearly imperceptible, in the whole view of the lapse of time; like that of a bubble floating down upon a great stream. We repeat; things that serve to expose and verify the greatness of this contrast, ought to have an awakening effect. Especially when we consider, that there is no circumstance belonging to our sojourn on earth so interesting as-that we must leave it. And most directly related to our leaving it, is our speed in passing through it.

And there are many things to illustrate this comparison and force our thoughts upon it. History itself;-why is history, but because the generations of men are gone? We want to know something of them, and to converse with

them, as a former world of men. And history tells us of one generation, and of another, that has passed away, leaving not a living "rack behind." In a few hours of this retrospective contemplation, a whole age of the race is seen off the world; followed by another, and another. We may look till we are quite weary of the long successionconfounded by the rapidity of endless change, and almost mortified to see the race thus continually reduced to vanity and dust. And yet here remains the very same world; "the earth abideth for ever;" and what it retains of them all is just, literally, so much mould as their dissolved bodies have yielded! a substance, however, which it contained before they existed.

It is obviously suggested here, that we have another illustration of the text in places of interment, that have been such for ages. The earliest of the generations that have terminated their earthly existence, are gone beyond memory or tradition. Of a subsequent, but still early period, you find some two or three half-obliterated monumental inscriptions; with them was contemporary a whole generation, deposited there in their season, but totally forgotten and unknown. In greater number there are dates of a later generation, still far gone in the past. And so you come down at last to the recent grave and tomb.

But the fields, the hills, the streams around are the same. The sun shines on the spot,-the shadows of the clouds pass, the rains and snows fall,—the grass and plants grow, -the same. And also living men, young and old, are seen, on a fine sabbath morning, walking about, or standing in social parties, or leaning, in perfect unconcern perhaps, against the monumental stones,-just thus it was in the former ages. It is very striking to observe this last circumstance (especially in some rural burying ground) and to think that these, (many of them probably the